


all quiet

by call_me_steve



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bombs, Gen, Harm to Children, Hurt Damian Wayne, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Swearing, The Crowbar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: The Joker smiles down at him and Jason feels like he’s a kid again.It's not in a good way. It's not in the way that he feels when it’s him and the Outlaws, racing through the rooftops of the city. Instead, he feels like he’s back in that warehouse in Ethiopia, screaming in time with the ticking of a bomb.He forces the thought away and takes in his surroundings.There’s another bomb wrapped around one of the pillars, countdown not yet triggered. In bright red numbers it reads5:00.Instead of lying on the floor, Jason’s tied to a chair. There’s metal cuffs on his wrists pinning him down, thick ropes wrapped around his chest and legs.When he turns his head, he notes that there’s a Robin here, too.It's not Jason, this time around.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 602





	all quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! I'm deadass proud of myself for this one. It's really angsty? I think so, at least. It's bloody and violent, so please just be careful with it. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Hey, feel free to leave a comment! They make my day. 
> 
> Tumblr: [potato-reblob](https://potato-reblob.tumblr.com/)

The Joker smiles down at him and Jason feels like he’s a kid again. 

It's not in a _good_ way. It's not in the way that he feels when it’s him and the Outlaws, racing through the rooftops of the city. Instead, he feels like he’s back in that warehouse in Ethiopia, screaming in time with the ticking of a bomb. He feels tense, waiting for the crack of a crowbar he knows will never come. Part of him is pleading for Bruce to come, pleading for _Batman_ to break through the dirty windows of today’s warehouse. 

When he comes back to himself, he forces himself to drink in the _real_ situation around him. It's no good to be lost in his own mind right now. 

There’s a bomb wrapped around one of the pillars, countdown not yet triggered. In bright red numbers it reads _5:00._ Once it starts, there’s no way he’ll be getting out. Instead of lying on the floor, Jason’s tied to a chair. There’s metal cuffs on his wrists pinning him down, thick ropes wrapped around his chest and legs. He can’t get out on his own, he’s tried. His wrists are red and raw from tugging at his restraints. There's no saving himself. 

When he turns his head, he notes that there’s a Robin here, too. This time it’s not Jason. 

It’s Damian Wayne, the most stuck up kid that Jason’s ever had the misfortune of meeting. 

Damian’s tied up just like Jason is, though he looks dwarfed by the chains. His head lolls on his shoulder, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. Jason’s own nose is dripping from a nasty hit to the face, but other than that, the two of them are okay. Right now, the most Jason’s concerned about is what Joker’s going to pull, if his nose is broken, if Damian has a concussion, if the bomb-

Okay, he’s got a lot on his mind. It’s helping, though, the stream of thoughts. If he doesn’t have anything to focus on, he’ll start losing himself in the past. If he loses himself in the past, he won’t be able to figure out the Joker’s plan. 

He needs to be in a proper state of mind in order to make sure the Joker can’t _touch_ this kid beside him. As much of a stuck up brat as he is- (he remembers a crowbar set on his pillow case, fighting and yelling, electrical staffs never touching their targets)- Jason won’t let the Joker taint the one thing good that Bruce has left- what with Dickhead parading around as _Ric_ and with Replacement hiding away from the bastard. Not that Jason _blames_ Tim. He doesn’t want to be around Bruce any second longer than he has to. 

Still. 

Damian is the one child that hasn’t been fucked up by the Joker quite yet, and Jason intends to make sure that the Joker never has his chance. 

(Such a shame he doesn’t know about the pit of bugs, the fight to the death with a Batman who wasn’t. Such a shame he doesn’t know about a crowbar and a locked room surrounded by police, a taste of revenge on a little boy’s lips.) 

It’s hard to do, when the room before him echoes faint memories that makes Jason’s skin crawl. He doesn’t want to be here with the Joker looming over him. He wants to be with _Roy_ and _Kori,_ laughing as they take over the night and paint the town with their stupid jokes and failing quips. Instead, he’s here with the Joker and with _Damian_ and he’s reliving the worst day of his life. 

“I’d like to play a _game,_ ” the Joker croons, moving with confident strides over to Damian. He takes the kid’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks. Damian musters up a glare, but it’s watered down by how out of his mind he probably is right now. He gurgles out something that’s probably _don’t touch me,_ though it sounds a lot more like _oooon uuch meh._

“Hands off the kid,” Jason cuts in, sharp. His nerves are frying, burning like they’re over an open fire. 

The Joker side eyes him, sending chills down his spine. Instead of withdrawing from Damian, his slimy hands only slide down to the ropes binding the kid from the chair. “Play nice,” he warns. “I should tell you the rules before we start partying, shouldn’t I!” 

Jason barks out, “I said hands _off!_ ”, only to be ignored. With a quick swipe of his hand, the ropes around Damian fall, and the Joker yanks him forward so hard, Damian falls to the floor. Just as he gets ready to shout, the Joker plants his hand over Damian’s mouth. 

“If you make a single sound,” he sings, sweet as nails on a chalkboard, “I’ll tie you back up and I’ll have a go at lil’ ol’ Red Riding Hood over there, capisce?” 

Jason knows this game as well as the next guy. It’s one he’s played himself while undercover, one he’s done trillions of times before. There’s no real name for it, from what Jason’s found, but it’s a dirty trick when you have two hostages who are close to each other. It’s funny, almost, that the Joker would pull this. The Red Hood and Robin _aren’t_ close- they’ve both tried to kill each other on countless occasions. 

He already knows how this will go. Traditionally, once the first hostage makes a sound, the villain would switch over to the next hostage and so on and so forth, until they’ve gotten the needed information, until one of them _dies,_ or until someone breaks in to save them. But, because Jason and Damian _hate each other’s guts,_ Jason’s willing to bet top dollar that the damned brat will spit out some curse and get the stupid punishment pushed onto Jason. 

Oh, if that’s how it’ll go, Jason’s _ready_ to play hot potato. 

(He _knows_ what he said- he said he’s not going to let the Joker get his filthy hands on the kid and twist his mind up. He _said_ he wasn’t- but- That all goes out the window right now. Jason’s saving his _own_ damn skin whether the kid likes it or not. He won’t let himself go underneath the crowbar of a madman. He won't let the Joker put a single hand on him. Not again. Not if this kid is just going to push it onto him-)

Damian _glares_ at the Joker again, writhing in his restraints. His hands fly behind his back, twisting into _hand signs_ from the fucking _sign language alphabet._ Jason can’t concentrate enough to figure out what he’s saying, he’s going so fast. He can make out an odd swear or so, the makings of _bastard_ and _son of a_ in the mix. 

He's dumbfounded. What the hell is he doing?

“-kid-?” 

The Joker pulls out the crowbar and he brings it down on the kid and-

And the kid doesn’t make a single sound. The kid rolls with the hit, but doesn’t so much as _curse_ or even grunt. 

_No-_

Jason watches as yet another Robin gets knocked down a few thousand pegs, each hit searing into Jason’s skin even though it’s not _him_ who’s under the goddamn crowbar. Blood sprays, the kid’s thrown around repeatedly. The Joker’s grin grows more manic by the second. It’s like he’s watching himself die all over again. It’s like he’s a ghost, hidden in the folds of the universe, watching _Jason Todd_ be thrown around the room, no hopes of anyone coming to save him. Batman was too late to save Jason, and Jason’s not _enough_ to save this kid before him.

Why is he-? Why is Damian _doing_ this? Why isn't he-

Jason watches as Damian’s eyes go dull through his domino mask, watches as he writhes with every hit, trying to expel the pain without making a sound. Silently, Damian's eyes widen and his mouth opens as if to scream, but nothing comes out. 

Only _once_ does Jason see Damian bite down on his lip- viciously enough that it draws blood. It's after a particularly gruesome hit right over the scar on his chest, left there by his first death. By the Heretic. Loudly, things shatter in the kid’s stomach, his arms and his legs. Purple blooms over olive skin, warmed from years spent under the sun. The kid chews down on his lip to keep in the sharp cry that Jason _knows_ wants to break through, and for some reason, Damian _doesn’t_ let it go. 

“Say something,” Jason starts pleading. He doesn't understand why he's not passing the punishment on. He can't wrap his head around why the kid wouldn't just _cry out._ “C’mon kid, _make a sound-_ ” 

The thing is, the kid’s still _there._ He hasn’t dissociated or faded away to some kind of fantasy land in his brain. Whenever Jason begs him to shout, his eyes- clouded over with white hot pain- find Jason. He _glares,_ glares like it’s all that he can do, urges him with his single look to _shut up, shut up-_

At least, Damian _does-_ until he stops. He stops glaring and just focuses on breathing through the pain, on stopping any sound from breaching his lips. 

“ _Robin,_ ” Jason nearly cries, having to stop himself from using the kid's real name. _Robin_ sounds so _impersonal_ right now. It doesn't sound desperate enough to help him. Joker laughs louder than life at Jason's shattering voice and brings the crowbar down right over the brat’s stomach. 

Damian rolls over onto his hands and knees, pulling his head forward. Here it comes, Jason thinks. He’s ready for the sound of retching, of crying to reach his ears- but even _this_ the kid does silently. He gapes with his mouth open, but doesn’t let anything more than a stream of spit and blood to schlep to the floor. 

The Joker’s grin is so big, it’s splitting his damn face perfectly in two. Jason wants nothing more than to tear himself out of his restraints and _beat his goddamn head in._ He knows just how he’ll do it- he’ll take the damn crowbar in the clown’s hands and slowly start snapping every bone in the damn fool’s body, until his organs have no choice but to shut down. He’ll endure Batman’s sharp, disappointed glare, pretend like it was never meant for him to begin with, and soon this’ll just become a distant memory like the old Jason Todd. 

“Ah, sweet, sweet payback,” Joker hums, landing a nasty hit to the side of the kid’s head. It’s the first hit to the area above the neck that he’s pulled. His goal isn't _brain damage,_ it's trauma. Emotional trauma. “Doesn’t this bring back _memories,_ little bird?” 

For a second, Jason’s _sure_ Joker’s talking about the Robin he killed in the years past, but then Damian brings his mangled hands up and flashes the bastard the middle finger. 

“It was a _fun date,_ ” Joker continues, seemingly oblivious to Jason’s sharp screeching. “I’d been meaning to give you a call _back”_ -he gives a sharp hit to Damian’s calf- “but you and big ol’ Batty have been playing hard to get, you know? Though I’m sure you’re not _trying to”_ -this time it’s to Damian’s shoulder, which is looking wonkier by the second- “do it, it still hurts, you know?” 

Jason wants to ask what he means, wants to ask _when_ the Joker ever had a run in with the brat. Batman's normally so _good_ about keeping his Robins away from the bastard clown.

(Ha. And see where that got them?)

The bastard’s even _heaving,_ like he’d just ran a couple marathons in one go. He leans down on the crowbar, giving Damian a couple seconds to breathe- though his breathing seems more like _gasping._ There’s a chance he’s got a rib that’s punctured his lung, but Jason dares not think about it. 

Jason’s heaving too, throat stinging from his yelling. “Robin, kid, look at me,” he says, as Joker fishes into his pocket for some old time-y _pocket watch_. He checks it- it's one of those _real_ old ones, still attached to it’s chain- while Jason looks down at Damian. “Come on, kid, you’re alright, look at me.” 

Damian looks up, clean tear tracks running down his bloodied cheeks. His gaze repeatedly wavers. He's having trouble focusing, and that's not a good sign.

“I can take it,” Jason breathes out, but he _knows_ that he can’t- he won’t survive a beating from the Joker again. He’s not even sure how he’s so put together _now._ “I can take it, kid, just let go. _Say_ something, okay? Big B’s on his way, just _say something-_ ”

The kid has the gall to give him a smile, teeth bloody and cracked. 

It’s not pretty. 

The crowbar comes back. _Up, down. Up, down._ The kid stays quiet and Jason busies himself by watching the path of the crowbar. _Up, down. Up, down._ Just like clock work. He tugs at his restraints again, lashing out with wild abandon, even as the strikes grow slower and Joker’s laughs grow more insane. _Up, down. Up--_

“We really should hurry this up,” Joker hums, giggling like a schoolgirl. He sounds so _casual._ All Jason wants to do is _punch him._ “Whaddya say? One more for the road?” 

He cracks it down, right over the poor kid’s skull. 

Damian doesn’t even scream. 

The crowbar clatters to the ground, and the Joker finally pulls back. He dusts off his hands on his blood stained pants before he waltzes over to the bomb on the other side of the room. He leaves Damian where he’d left him, lying on the ground like a dead fish, and presses one of the big red buttons on the top of the metal box. The clock finally moves from _5:00_ to _4:49._

“Toodles!” Joker grins, and then he spins on his heel and leaves.

It’s almost disappointing, how un-flashy his exit is. At least, it _would be,_ if Jason wasn’t so worried about the kid on the ground and the sound of the ticking time bomb and the memories still lingering in Jason’s mind, tainted by a green, magic pit. They’re going to die, now, he knows it. There’s no saving these two Robins. They’re going to die again, and this time they’re not coming back. 

Damian lies on the ground and continues to gape soundlessly, blinking once every while. He looks like the definition of defeated, lying there. Jason wonders if the gravity of the situation has hit him too. Does he know that they’re going to die like this? Does he realize that he's pulling a repeat of Jason’s death? That it’s going to hit Bruce so much _harder_ this time around?

Something slides down Jason’s cheek as the clock hits _4:00._ “I’m sorry, kid,” he croaks-

And then Damian slowly crawls up to his feet and hazards a stand- wobbling as he does it like a newborn baby ready to take their first steps. He crumples the first time he tries it, slamming down onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. 

Again, Jason can't seem to figure out what he's trying to do.

“Stay down!” he hurries to say. All he's going to do is get himself more hurt than he already is. “Jesus _,_ kid, what the hell are you trying to pull?” 

Damian doesn’t respond as he climbs to his feet once more. Once he’s sure he’s on stable feet, he makes his way over to the bomb, ever so slowly. Jason tries to tell him to stop, but it turns out to be no use. The kid just keeps _walking_ until he’s right in front of the bomb. Then he drops down to his knees. Carefully, he prods at the box, working away its outer shell.

Jason’s _going_ to say something, he is- but- 

Jason’s good fixing things. At pulling them apart. He’s good with machines, like cars and bikes, like old tv’s that don’t play sound anymore, like AC units that refuse to boot up during hot nights. He’s good with fixing Bruce’s watches back when he still lived with him. He's good at fiddling with Roy’s motorcycle too. Machines and vehicles and stuff like that- that’s _his_ territory. Replacement might be good with computers and tech and all of that, but he’s never been good with bombs the way that Jason is.

But- but sometimes Jason _forgets_ that Damian was raised to be a soldier. He’s good with bombs, just like Jason is. Hell, he’s probably _better._ Jason’s willing to bet that the kid’s been in a room with a bomb more times than Jason has been, (which is only about _twice),_ forced to disable them or die just for a lesson. 

Maybe they have a chance, Jason thinks, as he watches Damian work with the wires with mangled fingers. _Maybe_ they have a chance.

When the clock ticks down to _1:00,_ Jason stops thinking that. 

“Come here,” he tries to plead. “It’s no use.” 

(He doesn’t want to die alone. Not again. Not like this.) 

_00:30_ reads the clock, when Damian yanks free a black wire. He has yet to make a single peep, staring at the bomb intently- so intently, that if he’d been born a son of Superman, he’d have already destroyed and torn the box to shreds. _00:23_ reads the clock, when he stands back up for better leverage, to see the top of the box. _00:14_ it says, when he pulls out a yellow wire, stripped with red. 

_00:10._

“Stop, Dames, _stop._ ” 

_00:06_

"Come _here._ It's okay."

_00:05_

"It's not going to work, kid. It's no use."

_00:04_

“Damian, _please._ ”

_00:03_

“B isn’t _coming._ The bomb isn’t going to turn off. _Stop._ ”

_00:02_

Jason folds in on himself best he can, squeezing his eyes shut. He's not really _ready_ for the blast, but- This is it. This is his last second in the world, and the last thing he'll have ever said to Bruce will have been, _'shut up, Jesus Christ.'_

_00:01_

_00:01_

_00:01_

The blast never comes.

Jason cracks open his eyes, heart beating in his chest so loud he thinks he’s going to be sick. His eyes land on the bomb, number frozen on one second. His eyes trail over to Damian, who’s rocked back to sit on his heels, now, hands placed on his knees ever so perfectly. He stares forth, unseeing. 

He did it. 

The fucking brat _did it._

He did it, and then he shut down.

Dickhead had told Jason once that when overwhelmed, Damian _tends_ to shut down, like this. He retreats back into the assassin he’d been raised to be, perfectly poised and silent. It’s unnerving, after what Jason just saw- and- Jason’s never _seen_ the kid shut down. This is the first _time_ he’s ever- Dickhead had _said_ that the only way to get the kid to do things, when like this, was to order him around. To bark out commands like a general going out to war. Dick never liked telling Damian what to do.

Jason has no choice. He needs to get out himself, if he's going to get _both_ of them out of here.

“Robin,” he says, in the steadiest voice he can muster. Damian blinks, once. “You’ve gotta get me outta these restraints. C’mon, I’ve got a lock pick set somewhere in my boots, I betcha. Get yourself outta your set, and then you’ve gotta do mine.” Again, the kid only blinks. 

Jason hates himself as he continues, “ _Now,_ Robin.” 

Like an honest to god _robot,_ the kid gets to his feet. There’s no way that he should be walking that well with his injuries, but once Jason’s free, he’ll make sure the kid doesn’t walk anymore. Right _now,_ there’s nothing much else he can do. They’ve _have_ to get outside, in order to wait for Batman. They can’t stay in here- if they do, Jason’s going to- to-

Damian finds the set in Jason’s boot and awkwardly starts on Jason’s cuffs, the heavy metal things clanging to the ground loudly once off. Then he works off the knot that binds Jason back to the chair. Finally, when Jason can move, he rockets up like a startled rabbit. Every single nerve in his body- every cell- they're all screaming at him to _get the hell out._ He nearly tears the lock pick from Damian’s hands in his haste. After forcing the cuffs off of the kid, Jason pulls him up into his arms, hardly mindful of the blood starting to stain his shirt. 

Wordlessly, as Damian stares blankly over his shoulder, Jason makes his way to the doors. 

It’s raining outside.

No- no, it’s _pouring._ It's pouring worse than anything that Jason’s seen all week.

He wades out into the world beyond, arm hooked beneath Damian in order to keep him up on his chest. When he feels like there’s enough distance between the two of them and the warehouse, he drops to his knees, the jolt shaking him so bad that he’s pulled out of whatever trance that had possessed him. He’ll get soaked out here, beneath the crying heavens, he knows. Right now, he can’t bring himself to _care._ The rain’s washing away all the blood streaked over Damian and Jason, sending it all swirling down into the dirt beyond. It feels like a _cleanse._

There’s new tire tracks in the mud, over to the side. They’re from the Joker’s get away vehicle, no doubt. Jason wants to get up and follow them, find out where the Joker ran off to so he can _beat the everloving shit out of the bastard._

Instead, he looks down to the kid in his arms and tries to set his focus on breathing for longer than three seconds. When he can, he starts whispering comforts to Damian. 

Damian’s still too rigid and quiet, too silent, to still. 

“We’re okay, kid,” he breathes out, rubbing a hand over the kid’s arms. “He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.” 

Jason feels like he's talking more to _himself_ than he is Damian. 

He continues like this, babbling into Damian’s ears and trying to calm himself down on _top_ of getting the kid to respond. He mutters until his words don’t even make any _sense_ anymore. He talks about how _proud_ he bets Dick would be, how worried their ever growing family probably is right now, how Bruce is on his way right now.

(He ignores the part of his mind that whispers that Batman would’ve been too late to save a Robin again. To save _him._ He decides that he’ll be mad about it later, that he’ll scream at Bruce until his throat goes raw.)

After what seems like a millennia, Jason finally wears away at the kid’s walls, and Damian _finally_ makes a sound.

He makes _more_ than a sound- He makes a _racket,_ so loud that even their sister, Cassandra Cain, should be able to hear it all the way in Hong Kong. It starts with nothing more than a little tiny _whimper,_ so quiet that Jason can hardly pick up on it. It’s a sound Jason never thought he’d _hear_ from the kid, in all of his years. It starts with that whimper and transforms into something like a hysterical fit. 

Damian’s sobs are so loud they tear through his body, shivers wracking his frame so bad that the poor kid can’t draw in a solid breath. His cut off screams stain the air with his burning despair. All of his restraint is thrown to the wind- all of the perfectly poised _silence_ he'd carried moments before is immediately discarded like it’d never been there at all. Jason just sits on his heels and holds the kid as tight as he can, so tight he’s almost afraid _he’ll_ be the reason why Damian punctures his lungs. He’s almost certain he won’t end up letting him go- he doesn’t _want_ to. It’ll just end up with the kid getting _hurt again,_ getting hurt because of _Jason-_

It’s his _fault_ the Joker got to thrash him around. He’s a terrible person for ever thinking that Damian was horrible, for saying that he'd have _let_ the Joker touch the kid. The kid let _this happen to him,_ just so that the Joker couldn’t get his hands on _Jason._

He’s never letting this kid out of his sights again.

“You’re alive,” he says in a stage whisper, loud enough that it still echoes in the empty night, _quiet_ enough that he almost believes it’s true. “You’re alive.” 

The crying doesn’t get any softer. Each wail hits Jason harder than the crowbar that brought him down. He starts rocking the both of them, back and forth over and over again, in a repetitive movement. 

For the moment, it’s just the two of them. He tries his best to banish the overlapping memories of what feels like a million years ago and tonight. 

And then he sees the Batmobile- sees it long before he hears it.

Damian’s cries are all encompassing and the rain is loud enough to drown everything else out. It’s hard to hear the roar of the Batmobile with all of that pounding at Jason’s brain. He’ll have a headache before all of this is over- probably a migraine too. Now that he’s really _thinking_ , he can feel his nose throbbing distantly. 

The Batmobile rolls to a stop before the boys, headlights burning themselves into the dark. The doors open and out jumps Batman, in an off putting hurried _frenzy._ He looks like an absolute mess, despite his normal, well put together costume. 

For a moment, he just stands there beside the car, rain pouring down on him. He looks at the two boys before him, drenched and shaking. 

“Boys,” he breathes out, like he doesn't think it's _real._

Bruce races over as fast as he can, dropping down onto his knees before them. His hands ghost over Jason’s arms for a moment, almost afraid to touch him. Jason only meets his eyes, trying to force _every_ emotion he’s feeling into his gaze so he doesn’t have to use his words. They’ll just shatter and break like glass if he tries. Bruce wraps his arms around the two of them, one arm going up to stroke Jason’s hair. His other wraps around Damian, pulling them both close to his chest. “Oh God.” 

“We’re alive,” Jason utters, when he thinks he can finally manage it. He doesn’t have the heart to add, _we’re okay._

“Thank God,” Bruce whispers, even while Damian still screams in Jason’s arms. “You’re both okay, you’re going to be just fine.”

He reaches up and presses a kiss to Jason’s temple, and Jason- 

Jason feels like he’s a kid again. 


End file.
